


Checkmate

by BipolarMolar



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: Alcohol, Chess, Drinking Games, Games, I love Walker, M/M, Male Slash, Masturbation, Power Dynamic, Power Play, Slash, Slashy, Truth or Dare, Wine, voyuerism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 09:00:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BipolarMolar/pseuds/BipolarMolar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, a chess game between Brendan and Walker becomes a mixture of truth or dare and spin the bottle. Sexy times ensue! This was set during the time when Brendan allowed Walker to stay the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Checkmate

###  **Title: Checkmate**

**Author: BipolarMolar**

**Summary: Somehow, a chess game between Brendan and Walker becomes a mixture of truth or dare and spin the bottle. Sexy times ensue! This was set during the time when Brendan allowed Walker to stay the night.**

**Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters or the franchise Hollyoaks. Therefore I don’t make any money from this.**

**Reviews make me happy and aid the writing process. No flames! This hasn’t been beta’d, all mistakes are my own.**

 

Brendan paused outside Walker’s room. He’d barely been there an hour and yet this was what it was: Walker’s Room. Brendan scowled, wondering when he’d become so… accustomed to the man. He stepped through the threshold, not bothering to knock. The door was wide open anyway, and he doubted Walker would mind.

He discovered Walker sat at the table, playing chess seemingly by himself. A bottle of cheap wine stood proudly next to a captured bishop. A glass, sticky with alcohol and smeared with his lip prints rested near the upper-left corner of the board.

“Who’s winning?” Brendan murmured, glancing over Walker’s shoulder to scan the chessboard. A slight tilt of Walker’s head told him the man had heard him, although he didn’t reply immediately. When he answered, he sounded like he was smiling. “Me.”

Brendan felt a grin tug at his lips, as he slid into the seat opposite Walker. “First time you’ve ever won.”

“Well then,” Walker smirked, “You’d better put me in my place then, yeah?” His hands moved, sliding the pieces back into their original places. “Let’s play.”

 

 *****

Brendan hesitated, and then sat down, opposite his opponent.  “You mind sharing some of that alcohol or what?” He drawled, switching the board so that he was playing white. He always played white. He heard the clink on wood as Walker placed a glass at his side. Waiting for the accompanying slosh as Walker poured for him; he leant back in his chair and stretched lazily. “White goes first.”

“Wait,” Walker’s command surprised him. Brendan brought his head up to meet the man’s eyes, shining and slightly dazed. A quick look over the man told him that Walker had drunk more than he thought. There was a fine sheen of sweat coating his brow and although his hair hung heavily in his eyes, he made no effort to brush it away. Brendan’s grip on his glass tightened. Walker looked _wanton_. He never thought he’d be using such a sentimental, archaic word to describe a criminal, a man for that matter, but there was no other adjective applicable. He took a sip, grimacing at the sickly sweet taste before shrugging and downing it in one go. Already, he felt warmer, more content.

“What is it? I thought you wanted to play…” He eagerly downed his next glass- it didn’t taste as unpleasant this time- or perhaps now he was getting used to it. Walker’s answering smile pleased him more than it should, he grinned back .He vaguely acknowledged that this wine, cheap and probably more parts perfume and carpet cleaner than grapes and good taste, was strong. He reached for the bottle.

“I do. But why don’t we make it interesting?”

The air pulsed in reply, the conversation taking a sudden tailspin of a twist. Brendan blinked sleepily, his mouth dry. The room seemed warmer, the corners blurred, the room thick with the smell of wine and their aftershave, mingling in the air. “A wager?” He asked.

“No. A game.” Walker’s smirk seemed dangerous; he leant forward, surveying the untouched chessboard. Brendan moved closer, transfixed.

“What did you have in mind?” He said, and then waited for Walker’s smile.

***** 

“Rules, Walker?”

“Rules,yeah. Let’s make a game of it, for fun. So…every time one of your, um, pawns is captured, you have to remove an article of clothing.”

Through the happy haze of alcohol, Brendan grinned. “And if one of your pawns is taken, you take off a piece of clothing.”

“Yes. Ok, um… I suppose we’d better put a truth and dare in there. So…if a rook or knight is taken, you have to answer a truth…”

“And if a bishop or a queen is taken, the person has to do a dare.” Brendan chimed in. The two men looked at each other and nodded. 

Brendan paused, his glass halfway up to his lips.” What if it’s checkmate? Or stalemate?”

Walker shrugged, seriously considering it. “That would be too much, I think. We’ve got enough to be getting on with.”

*****

 

 

Brendan lazily regarded his opponent across the board. White goes first. He slid a pawn forward two squares (a pawn can take two squares on their first move) and waited expectantly. Walker put forward a pawn without any real thought. The game went on.

 The first man to have a pawn captured was Walker. There was a hanging tension in the air as both men remembered what Walker had to do. Brendan leant forward, resting his forearms on the table. He wasn’t particularly worried; he had never lost to Walker before. Besides, he was wearing more layers than the Englishman. Walker glanced down at his sad, captured pawn, before leaning down. He disappeared from view for a moment, and Brendan frowned, leaning down to look under the table. Walker emerged, holding a trainer.

“Right,” he said, looking oddly pleased with himself. “You next.”

 

*****

 

He didn’t admit (he didn’t even allow himself to voice it in his mind) but for this game, this specific game, Brendan Brady focused more on capturing the pawns of his opponent than applying any strategy to win the game.  He didn’t brood on it because that would force him to acknowledge one thing: He was more eager to see Walker take his clothes off than win the game. And Brendan Brady always won.

There was a threat lingering in the air as each man played, anticipating the other’s move.  A third into the game Walker had lost both socks and shoes. Remembering each act, each moment of surrender made a heat, not unpleasant just powerful, flood across Brendan’s skin.

_The first pawn Walker lost cost him his shoe. This had irritated Brendan, he’d attacked the board with new vigour, wanting to see Walker remove more, humiliate himself. He’d discarded a shoe himself as Walker cost him a pawn, toeing it off hurriedly without another thought. His jacket and cross necklace held the advantage; it was unlikely he would have to strip before Simon Walker._

_When Walker had removed his second shoe, a smirk had crept across his face, as he reached for his glass. Brendan had made sure to keep Walker’s gaze as the other man tilted the glass to his lips. Watching his Adam’s apple bob as he drank deeply, the sloppy drunkenness causing his beverage to stain his shirt, making it cling, damp and sticky to his skin. Brendan shifted uncomfortably, all too aware of the heat pooling in his groin._

They seemed to be rushing the game. Or rather, playing a new one: Make Your Opponent Strip. And Brendan was winning. Although Simon Walker’s moves had caused Brendan to lose both shoes and his crisp suit jacket, as the minutes crawled by, Walker had taken off both trainers and socks before him. Which meant, as Brendan plucked Walker’s pawn off the board, replacing it with his knight, Walker hesitated, automatically glancing down at his baggy T-shirt, hanging on his lanky frame. They had played in silence mainly, but Brendan spoke up, exactly sure of what to say. “What are you waiting for, Simon? It’s just clothes.”

Walker looked at that moment like he would very much like to hit Brendan…but he complied. Awkwardly pulling his arms out of the sleeves, he lifted the hideous garment up. A pale sliver of his midriff was exposed and Brendan cleared his throat, shifting slightly. As the Englishman discarded his garment with a would-be-nonchalant toss, he threw Brendan a challenging look, daring him to speak.

Brendan said nothing, appreciatively eyeing the expanse of smooth, pale skin. Walker was slim but wiry, an athletic build. The narrow shoulders and delicate collarbones pushing against the skin was distinctly appealing, making him look younger, more approachable. Brendan let his eyes travel down to the man’s chest, the pink of his nipples, the barely visible beginning of a six-pack. He frowned at the way his ribs protruded slightly; the man needed to eat more. Something deep in Brendan’s chest, something (feral and fanged) hummed in approval at the light coating of dark hair on the man’s smooth chest, that darkened in a trail down to his waistband. This man, this capable but contradictory man, stripping for him. Offering himself to him. It was a heady thought.

“Wait until I make you take your trousers off” he thought, inwardly smirking. He wondered what Walker was waiting for, then realised it was his turn. He randomly pushed a figure forward, realising his mistake as his partner crowed “You left your knight open for me! That’s a truth…”

Brendan tensed, leaning across the board, his face inches from Walker’s and his necklace brushing against a knight. “You’re right, Simon, that’s a truth,” he said slowly, his voice steely. “but ask yourself this, do you really, really want to know the truth about me?” he leant back with a toothy grin, knowing that even if he’d just lost a piece,  he wasn’t losing. True to his prediction, Walker looked undoubtedly unnerved, dropping his gaze to the board and asking the question “Do you love anyone?” Brendan knew he’d scared him. Just for a second, Walker had seen a glimpse of the real Brendan Brady and he hadn’t like what he’d seen.

 Brendan thought of Cheryl. His mind instantly offered up a memory of Ste, his lips pressed against his Brendan’s jaw clenched. Think of Cheryl.

“Yes.” He snapped, discreetly scanning the board for the locations of Walker’s three remaining pawns. I will see you strip. As he took a pawn, he smiled to himself. Walker would now surely have to remove his jeans- then Brendan would only have to get the penultimate pawn so that the man would be forced to remove his underwear. He tensed in anticipation, his mind’s eye already envisioning the other man unbuttoning his jeans, slipping them down past those lean hips. If he outright refused or tried to stop playing, Brendan swore he’d punch him.

Brendan frowned, straightening up. He could have sworn he’d seen Simon blush. Walker coughed, his face flushed, and fumbled with the zip, yanking it down and slipping out of the trousers and taking his seat at the table quicker than Brendan would have thought possible. Brendan blinked. Walker hadn’t been wearing any underwear.

“Go commando, do you, _Son_?” he sneered, in a mock-English accent. Walker’s expression was murderous as he jabbed a Queen forward so angrily the monarch squeaked against the board. Brendan was still laughing as Walker snatched a white piece off the board, replacing it with the Queen. He stopped laughing. In Walker’s pale hand was Brendan’s Queen. What was a Queen for, in this game? He recalled a snippet of their conversation-

_“Yes. Ok, um… I suppose we’d better put a truth and dare in there. So…if a rook or knight is taken, you have to answer a truth…”_

_“And if a bishop or a queen is taken, the person has to do a dare.”_

A Dare. Ah.

**Author's Note:**

> There aren't enough Bralker fics, darn it! If you liked this and want to see more, let me know. :)


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